


Unattached

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:51:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Tensions come to a head between Thorin and an old friend.





	Unattached

You watched as Thorin unrolled the map across the long stone table, every one of his advisers shared the same look of exasperation and boredom. For hours, you had been sat in the council chambers, listening to him droning on about the elf king and their imminent meeting. It had taken months and cajoling from every single member of his council, but he had finally agreed to the affair.

Looking across the ink which traced every tree and twist of the Mirkwood forest, you nearly guffawed at the king as he stabbed an oblivious finger into the parchment, trying to lay out his path on the aged map. You looked around at the other dwarves, hiding their obvious amusement as the king went cluelessly on. You knew that no other would have the gull to speak up.

“Um, your majesty,” You chimed in the dulled silence, every head pricking up in anticipation, “You may want to turn the map right side up.”

“Huh,” He looked back to the parchment and realization paled his face. He slowly reversed the map and cleared his throat as his nephews stifled a set of guilty chuckles, “It’s been a long day.” He excused himself as he plotted his new trail, “Now, last time we were in Mirkwood, we were not so fortunate, but…”

You looked to table with a grin, Balin nudging your arm with approval. “Only you, Y/N,” He whispered as he leaned against the arm of his chair, “You’re the only one he wouldn’t have thrown out of the Mountain.”

“Nonsense,” You waved away his words, having met with Thorin’s wrath more than once during your acquaintance, “He just has bigger worries on his mind.”

Balin gave a knowing smile but brooked no further argument as the sound of the king’s voice had died and you looked over to find him staring at the pair of you. With an apologetic bow of your head, you returned your attention to his geographical endeavour and poked the elder dwarf in remonstrance.

Finally, Thorin decided on route and folded the map up with a grimace. Many knew he had poor direction and as it was, it would likely be Dwalin leading their path. The king would travel further back in the party, guarded by loyal men against any danger which lurked on the roads. You hoped there was nothing further to be discussed as the cushion of your straight-backed chair did little for your comfort and after sitting for so long, your muscles ached with disuse.

“Your majesty?” Balin prompted as Thorin lowered himself into his chair with a grunt, “Is there anything else to attend to?”

“I don’t believe so,” He grumbled, “You may leave. There are many preparations to be made for our trip.”

The king’s words marked your dismissal and all rose from the table, chairs scraping the floor loudly and footsteps trudging heavily towards the door. At the end of the torrent of dwarves, you followed behind but you were halted as your name was called from behind. You turned and the king was looking at you expectantly, leaning forward in his chair with an air of determination about him.

“Your majesty?” You were not even sure he  _had_  called your name.

“A moment,” He waved towards the chair to his right and you slowly broke away from the departing train, dreading whatever business you had left behind with the grim-faced king. You lowered yourself silently onto the stone seat and waited for Thorin to speak, “What do you think?”

“Pardon?” You near choked at the question, “What do I think about what?”

“Mirkwood,” His eyes darkened at the mere mention of the elvish city, “Should I be wary of Thranduil?”

“Thranduil always has his machinations and you will never be without your distrust of the elf,” You shrugged, withholding a yawn with all your strength, “I think, though,” You tapped your fingers on the table top, “That this is the right decision. We can’t lose this Mountain again and allying ourselves with those closest to us, regardless of race, will help us do that.”

“Mmm,” Thorin leaned back and rubbed his chin, “It didn’t work so well the last time. You know how Thranduil turned away at the descent of Smaug.”

“Be that as it may, now we know we cannot depend on him for defense,” You surrendered, “But the elves have rich harvests and we are barren after the reign of the dragon. We need to feed our numbers, especially as more arrive every day and–” You paused as Thorin lightly touched his torso with a pained wince, “Are you alright? Your wounds?”

“Nothing,” He assured you, “It is mostly healed but still causes discomfort. These chairs do not help in that.” He lowered his hand, grabbing the arms of his chair staunchly and pushing himself to his feet, “Thank you for your advice, I shall take it to heart. For now, I’ll set you free. Go. Sleep. You’ll need it,” He stepped around the table and yawned loudly, “You’ll be included among the advisers I take to the elvish city. As I recall, the last time you faced Thranduil, you left him in a state.”

The king grinned, the memory of your venomous insults and the colour they had set in the cheeks of the elven king amusing him as he reminisced. You shook your head, half-ashamed of your vulgarity but regretting not a word. You stood and bowed slightly, “Good night, your majesty.”

“Good night…” He paused after the last word as if forgetting your name, “Y/N.”

He blanched and turned away from you. You wondered at his sudden awkwardness but were too tired to dwell on it. You lumbered to the door, your muscles achy and your head heavy. The road to Mirkwood would be tumultuous and with a king like Thorin, the visit would be just as chaotic.

* * *

Throughout the journey to Mirkwood, under the delirium-inducing trees and along the bramble-lined trails, Thorin had been entirely miserable. All those around him had sensed his dissatisfaction and he had made plain his distaste for your destination.

His nephews had sworn off all contact with him after a rather sharp lecture aimed towards them after they had pretended to have witnessed the approach of the same oversized spiders which had seized the company before. Even Balin sighed his exasperation as the king demanded that the party move faster even though the mules which carried luggage, pulled cart, and seated dwarves were already foaming at the mouth with exhaustion. Dwalin had gone unseen for an entire day after an inane argument with his stubborn king and you seemed the only to be able to appease him, though you found your patience waning.

“If we are so close, can we not continue on to the palace?” Thorin accosted Balin as he directed those who had begun to set up camp for the night, “Another hour or two would be nothing.”

“Thorin I said three hours…and that’s with well-rested mules,” Balin turned his tired eyes to his king, “If we press on further, we shall surely lose at least one of our wearisome steeds, as it is.”

“He’s right, Thorin,” You agreed evenly, “We’re all in need of a rest. Even you, despite your reluctance to admit it.”

“Hmmp,” The king looked you up and down before returning his attention to his closest adviser, “I guess you’re right.” Thorin waved away Balin with curt dismissal and you frowned at him; he had become intolerable during the days of travel, “Y/N, I should like to speak with you,” He was focused once more on you and you had not noticed for your resentful thoughts, “In private.”

Turning, he did not wait for you to follow and marched forward towards the canvas tent which had been raised for his comfort. You trudged behind him, your boots dusting up clouds of dirt and he pushed back the flap of the tent letting it fall between you as you tarried after him. You pushed through the canvas and as you entered, he turned to you with a fiery determination.

“Y/N,” His voice was stony, “I have always appreciated your advice but I dare say you presume to take liberties as of late. To contradict me in front of my men.”

“Even though I’m right,” You countered swiftly, “You may be my king but you cannot rule logic. Besides, it was Balin who first protested, so why is he not in this tent receiving the same reprimand?”

Thorin kept his lips sealed as he considered you, his brow lowering in defeat as he mulled your argument. You could always tell when he knew you were right but was to proud to admit it. “Be that as it may,” He turned away from your, folding his hands behind his back in a regal manner, “I cannot have you opposing my every move once we arrive in Mirkwood. It would be detrimental to our negotiations.”

“Trust me, Thorin, I am the least of your worries in your dealings with Thranduil,” You avowed, “We both know he is the one who you are so concerned for. He is difficult, we know that well, and you best stop directing your worries towards those who follow you loyally and start focusing on the elf who awaits you.”

A silence pervaded the small space of the tent as Thorin turned his back to you, his dark waves doing little to hide the thoughts swirling around in his mind. “You are much too wise for your own good,” He sighed as he dropped his shoulders, “Go on, rest. We’ve a long day tomorrow…” He made no move to look back at you, “And I should expect you to attend the negotiations. I need someone there who can keep Thranduil off-kilter.”

You bowed your head with a dull “Your majesty” and spun around, leaving the king to his sulking as you sought out your own tent. You hoped the night would see you soundly asleep on your bedroll and not tossing and turning in dread over the next day. The last you had been face to face with Thranduil, he had been less than amiable and you doubted that he had forgotten that event.

* * *

The façade of Mirkwood palace loomed above as your mule carried you across the threshold, the train of dwarves following behind. At Thorin’s insistence, you had ridden at the head of the procession at his side. You could see a smirk brewing below his lips and you were already agitated by his ploy. You knew that he expected you to be a great weapon in his collision with the Elvenking.

The doors of the palace shifted open at your approach and Thorin pulled forward, dismounting easily from his mule as Thranduil appeared at the top of the marble staircase. The elf’s silver eyes grazed across the king with derision but flared when they espied you at his rear. You saw the subtle clench of his slender fingers into a fist and you slid off the back of your steed with a grunt. You had thought the King Under the Mountain a greater source of elvish spite, but it seemed your reputation had lingered.

“King Thorin of Erebor,” Thranduil greeted with exaggerated formality, “We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

“King Thranduil of Mirkwood,” Thorin mimicked mockingly, “We would apologize for our delay but dwarves do not abide by the timekeeping of elves.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Thranduil sighed and the kings faced each other mutual defiance, contempt filling the silence.

“We’re here to make peace, are we not?” You shattered the brittle tension in the air, “Staring at each other like a couple of bulls will do quite the opposite.”

“Oh?” The elvenking’s gaze slithered towards you, “And you, of all, would lecture us on peace?”

“We have gathered to leave the past where it belongs,” You countered, “Now, we share the same tally of sins. For every offense that I’ve committed, you’ve as many. And the lot of us did not travel all this way,” You waved your arm between Thranduil and Thorin, “To watch two arrogant bastards seethe at each other and accomplish nothing.”

“There’s that eloquence,” Thranduil trilled, “How blessed I am to welcome you once more to my home, Y/N.”

“Mahal,” You looked to Thorin who was rather amused by your outburst and you darkened your sneer at him, drawing a frightened wince, “Thorin, you’re an utter lout.” You turned back to Thranduil with a deep breath, “Well, I should like the matter settled. Are we to remain standing out here like orphans or is there any hope that either of you have developed common sense?”

“Mirkwood opens its doors to the dwarves of Mirkwood,” Thranduil outstretched his arms graciously, “Let us hope that we may rekindle the trust that burned between our kingdoms once more and prosper in the alliance of our two kingdoms.”

“Yes, let’s hope,” You sent another glare towards Thorin who deflated in his disappointment at your lack of show, “My king?”

“Oh yes,” Thorin mumbled as he turned his attention back to Thranduil. “We are thankful for your hospitality and I look forward to our…negotiations.”

The acceptance was begrudging but the most you could hope for. Both kings would be resistant until the very end and you were starting to expect that you would be the only one able to move them forward. With a desperate glance at Balin, you were disheartened by the doubt in his eyes, and you hid the rising unease in your stomach. It had to be a hopeless endeavour.

* * *

Thorin sat between you and Balin as Thranduil stared back from across the table. He had dismissed his attendants from the chamber but your own king had requested you remained. It was all the better as you knew that the pair should not be left alone in any situation. It had been empty silence for ten minutes and neither king had chanced to even twitch a lip.

“Alright, this is unbearable,” You declared, not expecting stalemate over something as tedious as grain, “If we can’t even agree on trading wheat, I doubt we’ll ever get past the point of passive aggression…and that can only lead to one end between our races.”

“She’s right,” Balin intoned gently, “The two of you need to start talking or this has all been for not. Can you not put your own pride aside for the sake of your people?”

Both kings sneered at the suggestion but a shadow of gilt glimmered in their eyes, both relenting as they mirrored each other in pushing back their shoulders and leaning their elbows on the table. It was as if their station linked them in some unspoken manner. The burden of their crowns weighed heavy on both and yet they would never admit to each other their shared troubles.

“Fine,” Thorin forced out through clenched jaw, “We’ll give him what he wants for the grain but our silver is the finest forged in the entirety of Middle Earth. We will not part from it for less than the prices given for Mirkwood ore.”

“The silver? Again?” Thranduil nearly scoffed, “Whatever you wish for your metal, we will give. Is that enough to placate our King Under the Mountain?”

“Mahal, would that this elf could see beyond his own nose.” Thorin slammed his fist on the table, turning to Balin angrily, “He wears on my patience with his sly words and you expect me to act civilly? When he makes it nigh impossible not to rent his head from his obnoxious neck?”

Thranduil laughed, the sound of it like crystal shattering amid silence and you leaned back in your chair with dismay. “Listen, Thorin, you,” You pointed to him before jabbing your finger towards the other king, “And him are both intolerable. I cannot say how to cure two such donkeys as the pair of you, but please, for Mahal’s sake, ignore his inane insults and get this over with.”

“Inane?” Thranduil ventured bemusedly.

“And you, don’t start with me,” You stood and shoved your chair out so violently that it toppled over, “I can’t stand either of you. You would have both Mirkwood and Erebor in ruins before either of you admitted fault. I’ve had enough of it. We have been here far too long already and I am starved from a long journey,” You crossed your arms belligerently, “I am to seek that feast you promised us and hopefully end this night without listening to another of your incessant quabbles.”

You pivoted and stormed towards the door, dropping your arms as you pulled it open and marched out into the hall. Something had snapped within you and another moment in that suffocating chamber would have driven you mad. You could smell the faint aromas of food and the corridor looked endless ahead of you. Mirkwood was a labyrinth but you would just have to follow your nose. And hopefully, they would serve wine with dinner.

* * *

The other dwarves had already been shown to the feast hall and were just tucking into the first course at your arrival. You tramped into the hall, the air stagnating as every elvish eye turned towards you. Looking around with a wary squint, you neared the table which had been reserved for your ilk and slowly lowered yourself onto the bench beside Dwalin who seemed as confounded as you by the sudden half of voice.

“What in Mahal is going on?” You smoothed your braids over your head, “Do I have something on my face?”

“No idea,” Dwalin reached for the ax which was absent from his back, recoiling at the disappointing grasp of air, “I’ve never understood elves.”

“Don’t think many of them have seen a dwarrowdam before,” Bofur leaned across with a smirk, “Though I dare say their first glimpse isn’t our best show.”

“Oi,” You seized a spoon and lobbed it his way, “Not funny.” You looked around at the staring eyes, “I wish they’d stop staring.”

“Don’t give them any bother,” Kili said with a mouthful of food, “Can barely tell their men from their women…up until a point, I’d thought them all women.”

“Sure, Kili,” Fili chortled, “Where’s that skinny redhead you were fawning over on our last visit, eh? Is she why your watching over your shoulder?”

“Oh, shut up,” Kili punched his brother’s arm and you turned away, tuning out their blooming argument.

“I need to eat,” You scooped a pile of lettuce onto your plate, “Even if it is leaves.” You stabbed a fork through the greenery and spoke as you chewed with a fervour, “Those damned kings. I tell you, we’re totally f–”

“Y/N,” Balin’s voice cut off your sloppy rambling, “Are you well? You left so quickly, I was worried.”

“Quite alright,” You shimmied over and patted the bench beside you, “Ravenous, but fine.”

“You can’t let them get to you,” Balin advised as he sat, “Trust me, it’ll age you before your time.”

“We can’t leave without a deal,” You swallowed and focused on pouring yourself a glass of deep red wine, “You know it as well as I.”

“And we won’t, both kingdoms depend on it,” He watched you gulp heavily but said nothing of his disapproval, “Thus, both kings will have to set aside their grudges and sort this out…we may just have to chance leaving them alone.”

“Yes, perhaps if they killed each other we could figure it out ourselves,” You kidded, refilling your empty glass as you saw movement further down the table mirroring your own. Thorin had settled at the head of the table so that he sat parallel to Thranduil who ruled over the next. “Mahal knows I could just wring his neck sometimes.”

“Which one?” Balin mused.

“Both,” You shrugged and drank further, “Or maybe I’ll just drown myself in drink.”

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Fili offered and you glared at him, causing him to wince in fear, “Or you know, do whatever you like.”

“I shall,” You toasted your cup to the table, “To forgetting!”

At that you turned up glass and drained it once more, searching for the ewer to fill another. You would not spend the night dwelling on what you could not change and instead, you would wash it away.

* * *

Thorin swore at his goblet of wine, swirling the acidic liquid around in his mouth as he wished for ale. The day had been miserable and he saw the morrow being little different. The night had turned out worse as Y/N had ignored him and opted to remain at the other end of the table and Thranduil sat unbearably near.

The time had passed like agony and Thorin was ready for bed. His eyelids drooped under the weight of both day and alcohol. Surely, once he slept he would wake refreshed; a new dwarf. And an apology to Y/N wouldn’t hurt either. He would need her if he was to survive Thranduil.

“Uncle,” Thorin caught himself from sagging in the chair as his nephew’s voice broke through his grogginess, “Are you well?”

“Fine,” He assured, his tongue thick in his mouth, “I was just–” He held in a hiccup between words, “Thinking.”

“Oh, alright,” Fili narrowed his eyes and looked to Kili as he appeared at his other side, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” He declared and pulled himself up clumsily by the table edge, wavering on his feet as he stood, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I would say the wine, perhaps?” Kili ventured with a giggle and elbowed his brother.

“I’m not *hiccup* drunk,” Thorin insisted defensively, “I’m just tired.”

“Mmmhmm,” The brothers smirked knowingly, “Please, uncle,” Fili reached out to take Thorin’s arm, “Let us help you.”

“I can do it myself,” Thorin tried to pull away and nearly toppled, using the chair to catch himself, “Ugh, I can, I swear.”

“Come on, uncle,” Kili chided and the princes took the arms of the king and guided him towards the door, thankful that the elvenking had been no where in sight to witness the scene, “Let us help you to bed and sleep it off.”

Thorin hung his head in defeat, knowing, even in his drunkenness, that his nephews were right. He had made a fool of himself and would only make it worse should he remain longer. He let them lead him down the halls as he tried to clear his vision of the clouds and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Did Thranduil see?” Thorin muttered ashamedly.

“No, fortunately,” Fili answered, “You sure did work yourself into a state.”

“And, uh…” Thorin thought of Y/N but could not find her name in his mind, only her face, “Did my wife see?”

“Your wife? Thorin what on Middle Earth are you talking about?” Kili asked flummoxed. “Who would be mad enough to marry you?”

“My wife! She’s there!” Thorin stood straight as he spied Y/N just ahead, struggling to fit a key into a door, “Oh, my wife. I am so sorry!”

Thorin pulled away from his nephews and barrelled down the corridor, stopping to use the wall for balance as he neared Y/N who look up with confusion. “What do you want?” She said angrily, sounding as intoxicated as himself.

“My dear wife,” He took both her hands in his, “I did not mean to anger you…but the elf. He’s awful and I can’t stand him.”

“Wife?” She looked as though she had been slapped, “I’m not your wife.”

“You’re not?” Thorin shook his head, the thoughts coming clearer, “Oh yes, you’re right!” He laughed at his own foolishness, “Oops. You’re not my wife…not yet,” Thorin released Y/N’s hands and lowered himself to his knees, nearly falling onto his face in the process, “Y/N,” He inhaled and his nephews neared, watching with curiosity, “Will you marry me?”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N stammered, “You’re drunk!”

“And, so are you,” Thorin accused, “So? Will you?”

“Get up, you oaf,” She boxed him in the ear and he grunted, “Now.”

Kili rushed forward to help his uncle up but Thorin waved him away, climbing to his feet with an effort. He kept his eyes on Y/N and set his shoulders, clearing his throat dramatically. “Well, if you won’t marry me,” He pointed at Y/N sharply, “What will you do?”

“Mahal, you’re such a fool,” Y/N shoved his chest but he did not move, “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too,” Thorin growled back as he reached out to Y/N, his arms wrapping around her as his voice lowered, “I hate you so much.”

Suddenly his lips were on Y/N’s and to the shock of Fili and Kili, she did not pull away from him. The brothers watched as she embraced him in turn and the pair were suddenly intertwined in an unbreakable knot, sliding halfway down the wall in a sickening display.

“Ew, let’s just go,” Kili shuddered as he backed away.

“Yes, let’s,” Fili agreed as he nudged his brother away from the drunkard pair, looking over his shoulder as they walked away, “Better to let them clean up their own mess.”


End file.
